To Be With You Again
by Harry Potter you're my hero
Summary: It was the worst thing I ever did in my life... But that's not my worst guilt... Hermione, I wanted to marry you. It was the only thing I ever really wanted. Oneshot DMHG


**DISCLAIMER: How many times do I have to say this? Harry Potter is not mine. However, his evil twin brother Larry Dotter, with a scar of a daisy on his rear, is.**

**Author's Note**: Hello all! I just wanted to say that this story comes entirely from a few sentences in The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and that I in no way own any of the sentences from her book that are borrowed for this story.

**To Be With You Again **by: Harry Potter you're my hero

A cold wind blew, bringing with it flecks of snow that hit Draco Malfoy's face like tiny needles. He looked down and noticed the snow sticking to the wool of his black coat, the way it began gathering on the clump of dirt at his feet. How fitting, he thought, for it to be snowing on this day, this hour. He sniffled and looked at the hole in front of him, wanting to jump in and die.

It was odd that he felt such strong emotion, he decided, because he hadn't exactly loved his wife, but he hadn't hated her either. They had been married against their wills nearly six years before, as part of some preordained plan their families had neglected to tell them, or at least his family had, but they had learned to get along quite nicely and put their pasts behind them to focus on their marriage.

It had not been easy, as they had both loved another, but each had been determined to make things work, and Draco came to rely on her to get through the turmoil of his life. He even came to care about her, not love her in the way a husband should love his wife, but he cared about her feelings and what she wanted, and he was sure that with a few more years he would have grown to love her as he had loved only one other.

To his right he heard a soft cry; he looked at the source of the noise.

The newborn baby, just three days old, looked out of place among the solemn group of people and was wrapped in a bright pink blanket, making it stand out profusely amongst the black clad mourners. It was the baby's fault; all of it was the baby's fault. If the baby hadn't ever come into existence, Draco Malfoy wouldn't be standing in front of the hole his now dead wife was going to rot in for all eternity.

He hadn't wanted a baby in the first place. He was still young, twenty-five, and he wanted to act young. He didn't want to have to worry about taking care of an infant, and the idea of being a father made him feel like he should be twenty years older than his actual age. Besides, he had only just gotten used to the idea of being married when his wife had told him she was pregnant.

He had acted excited and happy for her, but in all reality, he had been furious at his wife. She was supposed to be taking precautionary measures to ensure they would not have children; they had both wanted to wait at least five more years until they were sure they were mature enough to handle a child. When she came to him with tears in her eyes, Draco thought that there had been some sort of accident, that her mother had died the way she was crying.

No, she was pregnant, she had sobbed, and she was sorry; she had forgotten to take her potion. Draco had stayed up that entire night until she had finally cried herself to sleep, telling her it would be alright; sometimes these things happen.

As the months went on, Draco had to accept the fact that he was going to have a baby, that he was going to be a father, and that life as he knew it would effectively change forever.

And change it did.

A brain aneurism, they had said. The pressure of her pushing their child into the world had caused it to rupture, and she was dead before she even saw the baby once. Sometimes these things happen, they had told him by way of explanation; as if it would sooth the pain, fill the gaping hole left in his life when his wife was so abruptly taken from him.

There was nothing they could do, doctors told him. No, it hadn't been caused by the pregnancy, they said when he demanded to know if the supposed 'bundle of joy' had something to do with it, she had probably had the aneurism her entire life and the strain of giving birth was just too much. One moment she had been alive and the next she was gone; they had had no idea anything was wrong.

And then he was standing in front of the neat rectangular hole dug for his wife, looking down at the spot where her casket would lay in a matter of moments. Draco wished it was him instead that was going to be buried in that hole, not his wife. He had no idea how to take care of a baby – hell he could barely take care of himself! She had wanted the baby that now lay in his mother's arms, oblivious to the world around it. He on the other hand, well he wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

Grace. That was what they had decided to name the baby. Grace Katherine Malfoy. That was the only part of the whole pregnancy and baby thing he had wanted any say in, and now he could barely even stand to look at his child, let alone say her name.

Nothing made any sense. She had been a good woman. She hadn't done anything bad in her life, as far as he knew. She had been a good wife; she was devoted, she acted as if he had been the only man in the world and loved him like it too, though he saw how much it had hurt her to say goodbye to her boyfriend when he had shown up at Malfoy Manor one week before they were married. She had wanted to make things between them work out, and helped Draco to see that they were all each other had left in the world, and then helped him through the anger and terrible sadness that he felt towards his parents and his former love.

Draco on the other hand, well there wasn't much he could recall that he had managed to do right in his life. He had hurt so many people, both physically and emotionally. He had become a Death Eater and tried to kill his headmaster. He had helped ruin so many lives. He didn't deserve to be alive.

But he was. And his wife was not. She was in the casket that was now being lowered into the cold frost-hardened ground, never to be seen again.

It was ironic, Draco thought; that everything he grew to care about was taken away from him. His father was in Azkaban for life. His mother was slowly drifting away from him. The woman he had loved all those years ago had moved on with her life and was with someone else. And now, his wife was dead.

Suddenly overcome with the magnitude of his situation, Draco kicked the snow covered clump of dirt into the hole and heard it land with a dull thud on the lid of the casket. Then, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat, Draco turned and walked into the forest that bordered the edge of the Malfoy burial plot not looking back.

He had to get away, get away from all the sorrow that was threatening to consume him, along with the anger he felt towards his newborn child. There was no reason why he should feel sad and angry. He had finally gotten his wish; to be free of the woman who had ruined his life. So why did he feel so guilty?

Because, a little voice inside him yelled, you feel as though you are responsible for this. You are the one that wished this upon her, wished that something would happen so that you could run off and be with the woman you loved, the one who doesn't love you anymore.

Draco Malfoy felt lost as he walked through the silent forest, with the snow falling gently around him. He would have stopped to admire the beauty of the scene before him had his heart not felt as cold and desolate as the landscape around him. God, but he missed her! Without his wife, Draco didn't know what to do. He had been so used to her knowing what to do! And now that she was gone, Draco was as alone as a stray dog.

He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the silence around him, seeming to come from the trees that surrounded him. Yes, he was just like a dog. Only a dog wouldn't have left the one he loved to marry a complete stranger; the dog would have told his father to go right ahead and write him out of the will, he didn't really give a damn, just as long as he could be with her.

There hadn't been a day since then that he hadn't thought of his former love. It was the little things he remembered the most about her: the way she got angry with her unruly hair when it got in her face, or how her caramel eyes brightened when she talked of her future as a healer, or how when she concentrated very hard her tongue would stick out just the tiniest bit, or the way she added an a sound to the end of her sentences when she was angry.

But bigger things stood out too. The way she had clung to him after she had told her friends about them, the look on her face as she told him she realized she loved him, when she had told him she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, the huge silent tears she had had running down her cheeks when he told her he was to be married to someone else, how she came to him the night before his wedding and quietly demanded that he run away with her, that they could go to the Ministry of Magic that very moment and get married, and the scathing look on her face as she walked out of his life saying that she felt as though she had never known him in the first place.

And as he looked back on it, he wondered if she ever really had. But how could he expect someone to know, really know, him when he didn't even know who he was? His entire life he had tried to live up to his father's expectations, to be the perfect son and later Death Eater. And when he was with the one he loved, he had tried to be the man he knew she deserved but he could never be. When he was married, he tried to be a devoted husband, but always found himself thinking what things would have been like had he left with her on the night before he married.

Would they have been happy? Would they have had children? Would they watch as each other got older, but still see the young people they once were?

Those questions and many more like them had plagued him for years.

His head hurt. His eyes hurt. But most of all, his heart hurt. He had lost too much in his life for his liking. And all he was left with was a little bundle of pink flesh that had the green eyes of her mother and a mountain of pain.

His eyes were blurry as he walked on in the falling snow, the moisture making his cheeks freezing cold. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel the humiliating tears make their way down his face, but he couldn't seem to stop once he started. There was no reason he should cry, he mused, his wife wouldn't have wanted that; she had always been such a happy person, even when he knew she was hurting on the inside.

He wandered on through the forest for a long time, letting his emotions have free reign, sometimes throwing rocks and branches out of anger, and sometimes falling to his knees and screaming his wife's name over and over until his voice was hoarse. He was glad that she couldn't see him like that, tears and mucus running rampant down his face, stumbling about the frozen ground.

Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, Draco collapsed against a tree, wiping away the moistness with the sleeve of his wool coat. It didn't make any difference to him that his coat cost more than some people's houses. It was only a silly material item, something that his wife had gotten him, back when she had been alive and well.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply, watching through puffy eyes as the snow came down heavier than it had when he had first ventured into the forest. The funeral was probably over, he mused, and he would never see his wife again – not her smile, her stunning green eyes, the little dimple on her cheek – only the cause of her death, the child.

The child. His child. Draco Malfoy, father. Something about it didn't sound quite right. He just couldn't see himself spending time with Grace, pushing her on the swings at the park or teaching her how to control her magic. He just was not the sort to do things like that. That was what women were for. His sole duty was to make sure that future generations of Malfoys would be even more successful than he.

And that did not include changing diapers or burping an infant.

He supposed his mother could probably take care of her, she seemed to get on with her well enough, but he didn't know how much she would be willing to do. She was too old to raise another child.

Sighing again, Draco got up and began walking back in the direction of his home but stopped as he reached the point where he could see the vast lawn of his property. He couldn't go back in that house, not just then. He couldn't deal with the sorrow that hung over the house like a dense fog, so thick that it felt like it would never go away. So pulling out his wand, Draco apparated to London.

Diagon Alley was filled with bustling wizards and witches carrying brightly colored packages hurrying form one place to the next, getting out of the cold, snowy weather as soon as possible. No one paid any attention to him, he noted thankfully, the last thing he needed was to run into someone he knew that would try to make him feel better and then give him that look that said 'I feel sorry for you' before walking away. He didn't need that either.

He walked in no direction in particular through the rapidly deepening snow, observing that everyone was in a very cheery mood while he felt like dying. That was when he remembered that Christmas was only one week away. He had been too concerned with the fact that he was going to be a father and later that his wife was dead to really take notice of the holiday's impending arrival. And then he saw all the wreaths and decorated trees in the shop windows, the happy smiles on everyone's faces, the way they embraced someone they hadn't seen in a long time.

And he was alone - completely and dreadfully alone.

His shoulders sagged as he stopped in the middle of the street and allowed the world to pass him by. Maybe if he just shut his eyes – blocked out the whole world – he would find that one place where he felt blessed nothingness, just the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed the frigid air; no emotion whatsoever.

"Excuse me, sir," said a male voice, "are you alright? You look a bit peaked." Draco opened his eyes to see a short man in electric blue robes, the few white hairs on his head blowing in the wind. He looked upon Draco not with pity, but with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked again.

Draco attempted a smile and replied, "I've just been in the cold for a bit, I'll be alright."

"You're sure?" the man pressed, "Maybe you should get a cup of tea, warm up a little." Funny, Draco thought, the man seemed really concerned about him, a stranger. For all the man knew, Draco could pull his wand on him and massacre the entirety of Diagon Alley in a matter of minutes. Then they'd know what he was going through. He coughed and sent the man on his way, saying that he would get a cup of tea immediately.

He turned and began going the opposite way of the coffee shop but paused. The man _had_ seemed genuinely concerned. And he was rather thirsty… and his throat hurt, come to think of it. And maybe a little tea would improve his mood. So, turning on his heel, Draco made his way to the shop and opened the door, the little bell hanging from it jingling merrily.

Finding an empty table was not an easy feat, but Draco managed to find a small table squeezed in the corner. After ordering his tea, he stared idly out the large window in front of him.

And that was when he saw her, the one and only woman he had ever loved, right across the street from him. And she was with her new fiancé.

Hermione Granger was more beautiful than the last time he had seen her, nearly two years earlier. Then it had only been a fleeting glance in her direction before hurrying on, pretending he hadn't seen her, but now he drank her in like a man dying of thirst. Her hair was shorter than he remembered it being – probably easier to manage – and she was a little darker skinned, like she had just gotten back from a vacation to some tropical place. And she was laughing, probably at some stupid joke the great oaf had said. She used to laugh like that when Draco said something witty, and he could remember reveling in the sound of it; she had the most beautiful laugh.

He followed her with his eyes as she grabbed Victor Krum's hand and lead him towards the very coffee shop he was sitting in. He vaguely heard the door tinkle as she walked in, bringing with her a gust of cold wind. And as that cold air struck him, he could smell the scent of her perfume. She was still wearing the same kind he had bought for her all those years ago on their trip to Paris; jasmine. He didn't know why, but knowing that made Draco feel a little better.

He watched as she looked around the crowded place, frustration becoming evident as she searched for a table to sit at. A faint smile came to Draco's lips as he remembered kissing the furrow from her brow when she had been studying at an ungodly pace before one of her exams.

Krum pointed to a table not far from Draco, whispering something in her ear. She giggled and took his hand, letting him take them to the table. They sat close together like they were going to have a very private conversation. And thank Merlin they were facing away from him; he didn't think he could handle a confrontation at the present moment.

He watched as she absentmindedly rubbed her hand up and down Krum's back. The ring on her finger stood out like a sore thumb. It was an ungodly huge princess cut ruby that looked more like a piece of costume jewelry than an engagement ring. It should have been his ring that was on her finger Draco thought bitterly, his ring, not Krum's. "I love you, Hermy-own-ninny," he said to her.

Draco just knew that she was smiling.

Sure enough, she turned to look at Krum and Draco could see her delicate smile as she replied, "And I love you." They kissed, and Draco looked away momentarily, until he was sure they had stopped their exchange of saliva.

When he looked back, he saw Hermione's brown eyes looking at him. And there was that _look_. It was the pity stare. He didn't want to see that look from anyone, especially her. He didn't need it one bit. He looked down, strongly considering just getting up and walking out, ignoring those eyes of hers. He realized his tea had arrived at some point, so he picked up the steaming cup and took a large gulp, choking and sputtering as the hot liquid burned his tongue and throat.

He received several looks from the people around him, but none bothered him so much as hers. Her brows creased and she looked a little sad, her bottom lip sticking out just the tiniest bit. Standing up so quickly that he felt dizzy, Draco left the shop as quickly as he could, tripping over chair legs and his own two feet as he went.

As soon as the winter air hit him, he felt better. As long as he didn't have to see her feeling sorry for him, he was better off. He began walking down the street, putting as much distance between her and him as possible.

Upon reaching a deserted area, Draco sat down on a park bench and covered his face with his hands, a few unwilling tears squeezing from his eyes. Now he knew how Hermione had felt that first time she saw Draco and his wife. Now he knew the pain of seeing the one he loved in the arms of someone else. Now he knew the wretched feeling of desertion.

That was ridiculous he told himself, he had been the one to desert Hermione, not vice versa. He had been the one to let go of everything they had to please his father. His pettiness and inability to let go of his name had cost him everything.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Wiping his eyes hurriedly, Draco looked up to see Hermione standing before him. "Draco… are you alright?"

He had never been able to lie well to her. Shaking his head, he replied, "No, no, I'm not alright. My wife is dead, Hermione, buried today. And you...." He looked at his hands.

"What?" she said gently, sitting down beside him.

Draco shook his head again. "Hermione… for six years… I thought of how I'd ask your forgiveness someday. And now I have the chance, but I won't ask it. It seems… it seems beside the point." He stopped and looked at her. She was frozen, looking away from him. "I know it's horrible to say that," he continued, "but that's how it seems to me. It was the worst thing I ever did in my life – but not because I hurt you. I did hurt you, Hermione, and maybe more than you know yourself. But that's not my worst guilt… Hermione I wanted to marry you. It was the only thing I ever really wanted."

"Why didn't you?" she asked softly.

"I… I don't know," Draco confessed, feeling miserable. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He really just wanted to be alone.

They sat in silence for a few moments. "I'm sorry to hear about Astoria, Draco, what a dreadful thing to happen."

"Yes," Draco choked, holding back tears once again, "it was quite unexpected."

"And congratulations on the birth of your daughter. Grace, isn't it?"

Draco nodded, remembering when Hermione had told him that if she ever had a daughter that she wanted to name her Grace Katherine.

"What a beautiful name," she commented, "Grace Malfoy. It is a very aristocratic sounding name. Very fitting for your child."

"Thank you," he said quietly, the withheld tears beginning to fall down his face. He turned away from her and tried to regain his control, but when she placed her hand gently on his back, he lost all control, leaning against her, letting her wrap her arms around him as he sobbed for her, his wife, his child, for himself.

It wasn't until he felt her shaking against him that he looked up and saw tears making tracks down her face. "There hasn't been a day that I haven't thought of being with you," she wept, "I've imagined it so many times, what it would be like when I was back in your arms, but imagination is so much different than reality. Reality is so much better."

She tenderly kissed his forehead and ran her hands through Draco's hair before bringing her lips to his. It was better than he remembered. Her lips were like velvet against his, and he couldn't get enough of the taste of her.

When they broke apart, Hermione whispered, "Draco… I told you I would never love anyone else. I still love you."

Her brown eyes were full of hope. "Hermione," he said slowly, "if I told you now to leave Krum, to forget him and everything – to feel no anger, no concern – just exist for me, for my need of you… as my wife…?"

Tears welling in her eyes, she replied, "I'd obey you."

Tears in his own eyes, Draco kissed her once more and stood, taking her hand and pulling her up, holding her close to him. "Marry me," he whispered in her ear.

She replied, "But what about your wife?"

Looking into her caramel eyes, Draco said, "She would want me to be happy. She loved someone else too, you know."

"Oh," was her response.

"Marry me," he said again.

For a few moments she remained silent, her arms wrapped tight around his neck. And then, smiling, she said, "Yes."

Draco lifted her in his arms and spun her around in the falling snow, having not a care in the world save the fact that she was in his arms again.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Tell me what you think! What was your favorite part, what needs improvement, etc.


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